


No More Limp Whiskey Dick

by echoes_of_another_life



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, First Time, M/M, Top Sam, rimmimg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_another_life/pseuds/echoes_of_another_life
Summary: Sam was sick to his back teeth with all the women Dean brought to whatever no tell motel they were staying at. He was fed up of lying with his back to his brother’s bed, trying to ignore his brother’s curses, Dean trying and failing desperately to rut his way to completion.





	No More Limp Whiskey Dick

No More Limp Whiskey Dick 

“Just gimme a minute,” Dean said, slack-jawed and speech slurred, as he pinched at Nicole’s nipples through the flimsy material of her bra, and massaged the ache that was building; his fingers digging into her breasts, clumsy and unsatisfying.

“What’s wrong,” Nicole said, as she skimmed one hand, down Dean’s chest, past his stomach and into the waistband of his shorts, fingers curling around his flaccid cock. 

“Just a need a minute, baby,” Dean tried and failed to push up into the cradle of her hand. He cursed, tried again as Nicole tightened her fingers around him and squeezed. 

“Shit,” Dean said, the harsh drag of Nicole’s fingers more painful than pleasing. He sucked in air through his teeth, the night’s whiskey heavy on his breath as he cursed again. 

…

Sam lay with his back to Dean and the woman Dean had stumbled in with. Sam’s presence ignored, as he listened to the rustle of clothes, the heavy sigh of defeat as she gave up trying to get Dean hard, and instead, got dressed, slamming the motel room door as she left. 

“Fuck,” Dean hissed out a frustrated breath, as he lay on his stomach, hips pressed against the mattress as he tried to find an angle that afforded him friction. He kicked off his shorts, and rutted his hips, cursed some more, and pressed down harder when nothing happened. 

And then he heard it. The old mattress springs creaked as Sam turned over, swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, and pushed himself to his feet. Dean held his breath as Sam braced a knee into the mattress and leaned close, fingers wiping at the sweat that marred his brother’s brow. 

“Lie still,” Sam murmured as he edged further onto the bed and straddled Dean’s thighs, fingers working into the muscle of Dean’s back as he smoothed his hands up toward Dean’s shoulders, to ease his arms up above his head. 

Dean released the breath he’d been holding, fingers pulling at thin cotton as he fisted his hands into the pillow. 

“I got you,” Sam breathed, nosing up to the tender spot behind Dean’s ear, and pressing a kiss into his sweat-soaked skin. Another at his nape, trailing a line of kisses down his brother’s spine; mouth open he licked over the curve of Dean’s ass, breath hot against Dean’s skin, and listened to Dean moan. 

“Spread your legs,” Sam said, more demand than request, as he made space for himself between his brother’s hair-roughened thighs, sitting back on his haunches to watch Dean squirm down into the mattress. 

“Sam,” Dean slurred, and turned his head, looked over his shoulder at Sam, green eyes blown wide with a renewed focus. 

“I’m here,” Sam spread Dean’s ass cheeks wide with his thumbs and leaned forward, breath hot against Dean’s hole. “I’m here,” Sam repeated, thumbs stroking between the shadowy cleft of his brother’s ass, pressing against his entrance, as he spread Dean’s cheeks wider, and watched the way he writhed down against the bed. 

“Please,” Dean moaned, and spread his legs, wide enough Sam could smell the clean scent of his brother’s musk. He leaned forward and licked a stripe up Dean’s crack, all the way to the small of his back. Sam paused to savour the taste, groaning hot and heavy. He stroked his tongue back down, pushing in with short, hard stabs that had Dean moaning, long and loud. 

“Want,” Dean groaned, Sam unsure whether it was the whiskey talking or his brother. He just knew Dean needed this, watched the way Dean ground his hips into the mattress, hard, and desperate. 

“This what you want?” Sam asked, as he eased one spit-wet finger inside his brother, up past the knuckle, twisted it around before slowly easing out again. Dean pushed back, searching for more, and holding his breath as Sam pushed in with a second finger.

“Oh, God,” Dean moaned, as he bucked up, pressed back against Sam’s fingers, and it still wasn’t enough. He pushed himself up until he was on all fours, legs spread wide, as he moaned, louder, needier, his cock hardening, as Sam added a third finger. 

“Come on,” Dean begged, wanting Sam inside, balls deep inside him.

“Is this what you want?” Sam repeated pushing himself to his knees, lined his cock up with his brother’s hole, and paused; Sam took his own cock in his hand, rubbed the head around Dean’s opening, wet and eager. He took a moment to look his fill, admiring the way Dean’s knees pressed deep into the mattress, arms tense as they took his weight, legs spread, and trembling. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Dean hissed. His cock was hard, and heavy between his legs, leaking pre come onto the sheet beneath him. “Yes,” he moaned. “Please Sam.”

Sam listened to the urgency in his brother’s voice, the plea and pushed in, slow and steady; holding his breath as Dean stretched to take him in, all the way to the base. He breathed out, harsh, and ragged as Dean clenched around him, rhythmic spasms massaging Sam’s cock. 

“Christ,” Sam groaned. He wanted to thrust in, hard and fast, so tempted, but this was about Dean, and instead he pulled out, all the way to the tip, and drove deep. Long sure strokes, giving Dean time to adjust, before snapping his hips forward, a brutal rhythm. 

Sam wanted to push back the hair, that fell forward, blocking his view of his brother, but didn’t want to let go of Dean’s hips, holding him steady as Sam thrust in and out of his brother, giving him what he needed, and what Sam wanted. 

He was sick to his back teeth with all the women Dean brought to whatever no tell motel they were staying at. He was fed up of lying with his back to his brother’s bed, trying to ignore his brother’s curses and desperate attempts to rut his way to completion, while Dean wept bitter tears of frustration.

Dean had been drinking more and more, often leaving the room as soon as they’d booked in, throwing his bag onto the bed and heading out the nearest bar in search of whiskey, and a quick lay. 

 

Sam wasn’t stupid. He'd seen the way Dean had looked at him lately, ever since Jess’ death, and Sam’s agreement to search for John. 

Sam had changed in the two years since he’d last seen his brother. He’d grown several inches, towering over Dean, was wider at the shoulder, and narrower at the waist. All signs of the gangly teenager swept away as he blossomed into what people liked to call, tall, dark and handsome, something that hadn’t gone unnoticed. Sam caught Dean staring at him with longing, flinching when his hand touched Sam’s thigh as he changed gear, gritting his teeth when he caught Sam’s scent when he leaned in to change the cassette tape. 

It wasn’t something new. Sam remembered the last few months before leaving for Stanford, waking up in a morning to his brother plastered up against his back, hot breath on the back of his neck and Dean’s morning wood pressed firmly against his ass. Sam not daring to move as Dean cursed under his breath and climbed gingerly from their shared bed, while John slept mere feet away. 

Dean had pleaded with his father for a motel room of his own, a bed to himself, but cash was tight and John was adamant he couldn’t keep them both safe if they were in separate rooms. And so it went on, until one morning Sam pushed back against Dean, moaning quietly, unsure of his actions, but needing what he’d always needed, his big brother. Remembering how he’d almost… remembering the feel of Dean’s hand gripping his hip as he pushed back until he was cradled in Dean’s lap. Dean's cock hard as it brushed between the cleft of Sam’s ass, sliding against his hole, Sam sure he’d be sporting bruises from the tight grip Dean had on him. 

And then nothing, Sam was left bereft as Dean flung himself out of the bed, stomped over to the bathroom and turned on the shower, no doubt to wash the scent of almost fucking his little brother from his skin. 

Sam had left two days later, he hadn’t said good-bye to Dean, who had taken to flinching whenever he was close enough to touch Sam, his eyes downcast, and a look of guilt etched into his face. 

Then nothing for two years. No phone call. No texts. Total radio silence. Until their father went missing, and they were forced back into close confines. Sharing the Impala, and a room when they managed to find one, and when they did, it always ended the same. Sam declining a drink at the bar, not wanting to watch his brother wheedle his way past some women’s defences, and into her pants, bringing her back to the room both oblivious to Sam feigning sleep in the opposite bed.

Sam was sick of playing possum while everyone went unsatisfied. If Dean dared to make eye contact with him he’d see what Dean was feeling was mutual, Sam not recoiling from his brother’s touch, far from it. 

“I’ve got you,” Sam said as he sat back on his haunches, pulling Dean with him until Dean was cradled in his brother’s lap, his back pressed tight to Sam’s chest. Sam giving Dean free reign, gritting his teeth as Dean set a rhythm, it was sloppy uncoordinated, but it felt so good. Years of pretending they were like everyone else, of repressed need, never daring to look each other in the eye for fear of seeing the truth. 

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, head thrown back. Sam gave in to temptation and kissed his brother's shoulder, his neck, tongue pressed flat over Dean’s pulse point, counting out the staccato beat. 

“So long,” Dean groaned, arching back into Sam’s touch, his caress. Slamming down into his lap, as Sam reached around and took a hold of Dean’s cock, finding Dean’s rhythm in tandem with each thrust. 

“God yes,” Sam said just loud enough to be heard, closed his eyes and bit down on Dean’s shoulder, sucking a bruise into the tender flesh. Dean let his head fall back, turned to the side, seeking and finding Sam’s mouth. Dean curved an arm around Sam’s neck, urging him closer after years of wanting, of needing, kissed his brother. 

Sam was lost, oblivious to anything but Dean, The dingy motel room fell away, taking with it the stained mattress, and the lingering scent of cheap perfume; leaving just the two of them, here, now, together at last.

“Sam?” Dean warned, as Sam continued to fist Dean’s cock, allowing Dean to take the lead, lifting up and slamming down. He was almost there, with Sam close behind, desperate to hold out until Dean reached his peak shooting thick ropey strands of come over Sam’s hand. Sam threw his head back, gritting his teeth as he followed Dean, both holding fast, trying to regain their breath and composure. 

Dean was the first to move, lifting carefully off Sam, and sprawling face first on the bed, settled, and quiet. Sam waited a moment before climbing off the bed and making his way to the bathroom and a hot wash cloth. He cleaned himself before rinsing out the cloth, Dean mumbled something, almost asleep as Sam cleaned away any evidence of what they’d one, washing Dean before throwing the wash cloth back into the bathroom.

Sam paused, standing between the beds. One empty the other two quarters of the way filled by his brother. Sam took a deep breath and threw caution to the wind, lifting the sheet, and climbing in beside his Dean, pulling him close. 

“Sam?” Dean mumbled turning over to face him. The alcohol cloud had begun to clear, and he wasn’t kicking Sam out of the bed, or shouting obscenities.

“I’m sorry,” Dean offered. 

“It’s okay,” Sam said, and stroked his thumb against Dean’s bottom lip, marred from where Dean had bitten it. “Just no more games, or cheap hook ups.”

Dean nodded his head, and stifled a yawn. 

“If you want, need anything I’m right here,” Sam said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” Dean asked, holding Sam’s gaze.

“Always,” Sam whispered.


End file.
